The Chickens of Her Youth

I love this post my husband wrote for his work’s blog. It has romance, pizza, and chickens. And he’s an amazing writer. What more could you possibly ask for?

Here’s a sneak peek:

I am standing in a bowling alley talking to my future wife. We are not dating; this is, in fact, our first real conversation. The lighting is poor, dim yet spastic in only the way lighting can be when its primary source is hundreds of blinking multicolored lights spelling “Spare!” “Strike!” and “Gutter ball!” My future wife and I are not bowling and stand the appropriate “this is the first real conversation between two young people who obviously want to be more than friends” space apart. Grease is running down my hand. This is because I have been handling a partially eaten slice of pizza for 20 minutes…